The Turning Clock
by Athena-Rhe
Summary: Voldemort has gained his dream of immortality, but Professor Snape is one step ahead of him with a forgotten 10th century potion that alone has the ability to reduce the Dark Lord. The only crux is that Harry has to help brew it for it to be successful. I
1. Chapter 1

**The Turning Clock**

By AthenaRhea

_**Prologue: Enjoy the Silence**_

_0o0o0_

_Words like violence_

_Break the silence_

_Come crashing in_

_Into my little world_

_Painful to me_

_Pierce right through me_

_Can't you understand_

_Oh my little girl_

_ Depeche Mode_

_0o0o0o_

Harry climbed up the circular staircase warily; he was rarely invited to the Headmaster's office for tea and cakes. Pausing in thought, Harry shook his head. No, he _was_ invited to the Headmaster's office for tea and cakes, but there was always an ulterior motive behind it.

Before he could knock on the ornate door at the top of the stairs, it swung open of its own accord to reveal the oval room. Sitting behind the desk was Albus Dumbledore, his hands clasped together on the desktop and he was regarding Harry over the top of his half-moon glasses.

Standing just next to the window was Severus Snape, his arms were crossed over the dark material of his work robes, and he barely turned to regard him but Harry knew the man was watching out of the corner of his eye.

Sitting in one of the chairs in front of the Headmaster's desk, was Minerva McGonagall and she was twisted in the chair to look at Harry. Harry was startled to note apprehension in her eyes, her pointed hat was a little askew but he was glad to note that at least her hair was still pulled back into a tight, neat bun.

"Hullo," he greeted, stepping into the room and closing the door. Before anyone could answer, Fawkes trilled a welcome. Smiling slightly and feeling a little better, Harry quickly sat in one of the chairs next to McGonagall. "You wanted to see me Headmaster?" Harry glanced at the other to Professors in a silent question.

The Headmaster nodded. "I did indeed, Harry," he paused, pursing his lips for a moment. "Voldemort is now immortal – " Harry gasped, his hands flying out to grip the arms of the chair as he rose out of his chair.

"He _what_?"

"Sit down, Potter, and you will find out," Severus snapped from his position by the window. Turning his eyes to the man, Harry was appalled to see how pale and sickly the Professor had become, there were dark lines under his eyes and he looked exhausted.

"Professor - " Professor Snape silenced him with a glare. Swallowing, Harry turned back to the Headmaster. "Sorry,"

"It is quite alright, Harry," Albus acquiesced, "Voldemort has at last become immortal. Professor Snape has discovered a long forgotten potion from the 10th century, but he needs your help to brew it, my boy."

Harry's mouth fell open and he turned to stare at the Potions Master, who had a sour look on his face. "I'm rubbish at Potions!"

"I've aware," he replied caustically, he looked just as repentant about him helping as Harry did. "The Potion needs the Base to be a part of the brewing as it gives the potion an intention. If I brew it myself it would not have any effect on the Dark Lord as he is not _my_ sworn enemy,"

"Who is?" Harry cringed, his mouth was getting ahead of his brain. Severus sent him a pointed look.

"James Potter," his tone was bland, but Harry could see the fire in the black eyes. "Regardless, the Dark Lord is yours and I require your assistance."

"What if I botch it up?" Harry glanced at all of his Professors, worried.

"Harry dear," Professor McGonagall finally spoke, patting his arm. "Unless you've forgotten how to chop, it is not likely you will – botch it up, as it were, with Severus' watchful eye."

"I'm sure you know what a superb Potions Master Professor Snape is," Dumbledore intoned, and Harry didn't note Professor Snape's reaction, but Harry never thought the man liked praise very much. At least not outwardly.

"So…I'd just help prepare and you would brew?" he asked slowly, looking up at the Potions Master.

"Not quite," he said tonelessly. "You must assist in part of the brewing, as I've already noted, but preparing is also a large part of it." Severus glanced down at Harry with an expression so fierce Harry nearly shrunk back into his chair. "You will not botch it up, Potter."

Harry swallowed thickly, giving a jerky nod. Nervousness bundled into his stomach, twisting it into knots. He was horrid at Potions, how was he going to get away with that? This was the defeat of Voldemort they were talking about, not his own measly marks for a bad potion!

Feeling his face drain of blood, Harry fought the urge to moan out loud.

"Are you quite alright, my boy?" Albus asked, looking at him with concern. Harry didn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded. "Are you willing to help Severus?"

Harry blinked and bit his lip, looking nervously at the Professors gathered in the room. "Yeah," he mumbled, staring at his shoes.

The Headmaster beamed. "Brilliant," he said, sitting back and clapping his hands once. Fawkes turned to give the Headmaster a hard stare for waking him up.

Professor McGonagall turned to regard Harry. "Mr. Potter, I will assist you to the Potions Lab – "

Harry's head snapped up. "The what?"

"Professor Snape's private Potions Lab," Minerva informed before Severus could get a word in.

"Why?"

"Because, Potter, unless you want a volatile potion that takes three months to brew sitting in the middle of a public Potions classroom, then you are far more dense then I was previously aware of." Professor Snape snapped, and Harry glared at him. He wasn't going to make it. First the Occlumency lessons and now brewing a potion, he wasn't sure which was worse – or more costly.

"I will accompany you three times a week, Mr. Potter." McGonagall continued, sending both of them stern looks. "The Headmaster and I have already viewed both your and Professor Snape's schedule and deduced that the weekends and Wednesday afternoons are suitable."

Harry's mouth fell open. "I have to spend my weekend with _him_?" He jerked his thumb towards the glowering man.

"For the better of wizarding society, yes you do Harry," Albus put in and Harry deflated, when it was phrased like that he felt selfish for even complaining. "Now, I'm sure Professor Snape has many ingredients he needs to fetch – " the Potions Master made a disgusted face at the word 'fetch' and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'Black' to Harry. " – and I need to speak with Minerva in private, so if you will," and he made a small shooing motion with his hands.

Harry shook his head violently. "What about the potion? You haven't even told me what it _is_!"

"All in due time, Harry," Dumbledore assured, giving him a stern look.

Disgruntled and a little irritated at being dismissed, Harry tried to leave ahead of the Potions Master. His attempt failed spectacularly, as the Potions Master had a much faster and longer gait then he did, and he quickly surpassed Harry on the stairs, not so much as sparing him a glance.

Harry watched after him suspiciously, if he didn't know any better the man was trying just as hard as he was to reach the bottom first. Grumbling at his short legs, Harry trotted down the stairs. He knew he probably looked silly as the staircase was moving anyway, but there wasn't anyone around to see him.

Once he reached the bottom he looked about but the Potions Master wasn't to be seen. Narrowing his eyes, he wondered how the man moved so quickly. Sighing, he turned and trudged towards Gryffindor Tower, glad for once that the Headmasters office was on the top floor.

Harry was still in shock, Snape wanted him to help make a Potion. It was almost as if he'd been stuffed into an alternate universe, where Professor Snape was nice. Only he wasn't he was just as caustic as he ever was. Harry knew that, even though he'd had six and a half years of potions classes, he still only vaguely understood why. Feeling foolish and extremely anxious, he wondered if all eighteen year olds felt that way. He doubted it.

Rubbing his face, Harry trudged up the stairs. Things like this always happened to him, but at least it seemed like there was a definitive way to defeat Voldemort. Shivering suddenly, Harry pulled his school robes tighter around himself. What if he _did_ botch it?

That thought was running through his mind as he stepped into the Gryffindor Common room in a daze, Hermione and Ron both rushed up to meet him.

"Was it about You-Know-Who?" Ron asked, his face a little green. Hermione twisted her hands, and nodded.

"Yeah," Harry replied wearily, giving both of them weak smiled. "I'll tell you about it tomorrow,"

Ron sputtered and Hermione looked even more worried. "But Harry," she complained, reaching out to touch his arm. She perused his face a moment before she nodded reluctantly, apparently seeing something that reassured her that it could wait.

"Hey!" Ron shouted as Harry stepped up to the Boy's Dormitory. Hermione clasped his upper arm and pulled him towards the couch, whispering fiercely in his ear. Harry smiled; he could always count on Hermione.

Slipping into the dorm, Harry face planted on his bed, and before he knew it he was fast asleep, no other thought of potions.

0oo0o0o

The next morning, Harry was appalled to note that he'd slept in his clothes, which were wrinkled beyond any non-magical repair. His mouth feeling like cotton, Harry quickly went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, casting a cleaning and anti-wrinkle charm on his robes.

Glancing at his watch, he groaned. He was late for breakfast! Another quick glance around the dorm showed that all the boys had already left, feeling a tad upset that Ron hadn't thought to wake him, Harry went down to breakfast with a frown.

Halfway there, he stopped abruptly with the memory of what happened the night before in Dumbledore's office. Biting his lip, he strained to remember if he had even asked any relevant questions, and was disgusted to note that he hadn't.

Feeling a bundle of nerves build in his stomach, Harry resumed his trek to the Great Hall, no longer feeling hungry. Just outside the Hall, he was surprised to see Professor Snape standing stoically near the door with a frown on his face.

"Mr. Potter, so good of you to emerge from your hovel," he snapped, and Harry took an involuntary step back. He wasn't supposed to meet Snape earlier, was he? A quick perusal of his memories told he wasn't.

"Err…" Harry mumbled, staring up at the dour Potions Master. His overly large nose twitched once before he thrust out a piece of parchment with lines of spidery script on it. Harry stared at the proffered parchment dumbly for a moment before he hesitantly took it in hand.

"I want all those chapters read before you think of attending to the potion," Professor Snape ordered, pausing to give Harry a stern look before he spun on his heel and stalked down the corridor, his black teaching robes fluttering behind him dramatically.

Glancing at the paper, Harry was shocked by the sheer amount he was supposed to read. A quick thought told him that McGonagall had mentioned Wednesday afternoons as a session, as seeing as it was Tuesday either Harry was going to spend the majority of his free time that day devoted to the library or he was going to look like a wanker and not show until that weekend.

The list said:

Chapter 5, 6, 15, and 35 of _Moste Potente Potions_ by Felix

Gulielmus

Chapter 7, 10, and 11 of _Advanced Potion-Making II_ by Libatius Borge

Chapter 2, 5, 7, and 15 of _Poisonous Potions_ by Ambrosias Emyrs

Chapters 1-10 of _Rare and Dangerous Magical Potions and Poisons_ by Avicia Mycaelis

Below that was a written note from Professor Snape stating that Harry was allowed to access the Restricted Section, as all of the above books were located within.

Making a face, Harry folded the paper and stuffed it into his rucksack. He was definitely not having the best start to his day. Sighing, he pushed open the Great Hall doors, feeling as if he were stepping onto a new continent.

Hermione and Ron spotted him immediately and beamed at him.

"Sorry 'bout this morning, mate," Ron said immediately after Harry sat down, although he didn't look very apologetic.

Harry shrugged, reaching for a croissant and some butter. Hermione fidgeted beside him for a moment, before she leaned over, obviously unable to contain her curiosity anymore.

"So what happened last night?" Harry glanced up at her and bit his lip. The Professors hadn't said anything about keeping it quiet, but Harry had a sinking feeling that he wasn't supposed to let other people know.

"I can't tell you," he sighed, setting down his breakfast at Ron's barely disguised squawk of indignation. Hermione's face fell and she stared at her pumpkin juice. "I'm sorry,"

"Can't tell us?" Ron demanded, a fixed look on his face. "We're your best friends Harry! That's not fair – "

Harry turned at gave him a short look, his lips pursed. "I'm sorry Ron, but I'm not messing about with telling you I can't say. If I do tell you and someone hears us lives – people could _die_, Ron."

Hermione paled beside him, but Ron didn't look nearly mollified. "So tell us in the Room of Requirement!" he shouted, Harry blinked and half the Gryffindor table was staring at them. Harry glanced up to the Head Table and noticed Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster staring at him, both of them with a serious look on their faces.

Harry sighed. "I can't Ron," Ron's face was pale with anger, but he didn't say anything else.

"Ron, Harry's just – " Hermione started, giving Harry a considerate look.

"Shut _up_,"

The rest of breakfast was spent in silence.

For the rest of that day the parchment weighed heavily on his mind as he thought more and more about his decision to either study that night or leave it for a more convenient time. Most of his History class, he stared into the far corner.

The pros of studying meant that Snape would have nothing to complain about and it proved that he was completely serious about what they were doing. If he didn't, he doubted he would ever hear the end of it and Snape wouldn't trust him to read what he was supposed to, and he would prove that he didn't think an extra study night was worth defeating Voldemort.

By the end of that class, he had made his decision. As he ate dinner, barely listening to Hermione and Ron having a 'friendly' argument in hushed tones, he contemplated how he would start his reading.

0o0o0o0o

**Authors Note:** Borge's second book is my 'creation' so to speak but the author and main title still belong to JKR, it does not technically exist but I figured that would be a logical step to make from 6th to 7th year potions. Any information that is quoted in this fic from Borge's second book is also my creation unless stated otherwise. The authors for _Poisonous Potions_ and _Moste Pontente Potions _are made up by moi.

_Rare and Dangerous Magical Potions and Poisons_ including the author is mine full stop.

Keep in mind that 6th year is an AU in consideration for this fic. Snape did not kill anyone – that we know of – and Albus did not die. The Horcrux's do not exist. Harry is now 18 years old.


	2. Chapter One: Never Saw Blue

The Turning Clock

By AthenaRhea

Chapter One: Both Sides Now 

_0o0o0o0_

'_But now old friends they're acting strange_

_They shake their heads, they say I've changed_

_Well something's lost but something's gained_

_In living every day_

_I've looked at life from both sides now_

_From win and lose and still somehow_

_It's life's illusions I recall_

I really don't know life at all' 

_Hayley Westenra_

_0o0o0o0_

Harry yawned, staring blearily down at page 57 of _Advanced-Potion Making II_. He wasn't even halfway through his reading list and it was already two in the morning, Harry hadn't counted on the chapters being twenty pages long each in font so small he thought he might need a magnifying glass.

Sighing, Harry shifted the book on his knees. He'd managed to convince Madam Pince to let him take at least two of the books out of the library when she'd ushered him out at ten o'clock. What he'd found out actually interested him, despite the massive headache he was beginning to feel the full brunt of. He'd never paid much attention to either Snape or the homework he set until now, it just hadn't seemed as important as things like Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Scoffing, Harry marveled at how useless the DADA class had been over the years. Even when Lupin was teaching it, Harry always had the distinct impression that the school could have done more to truly prepare the students for unwanted attention of the darkest kind.

Sighing, he knew he should get to bed as he had Herbology first thing in the morning, although his mind was actively trying to persuade him to skip it in favor of finishing his studies before Wednesday afternoon. Tapping the pages before him with his wand, he stared down at it without comprehending the words.

What he'd learned so far was that potions was far more interesting then Snape ever made them out to be, and if Harry was truthful with himself he could completely understand the Potions Masters fixation and - - dare he say - - love of the art. Biting his lip, Harry had come to understand that it truly was an art. Each ingredient was magical in its own right, and he finally understood why Snape had stated no wand waiving in his classroom during Harry's first year.

Magic from a wand could seriously dement most potions, skewing the magical association with each ingredient and how they reacted together. The ingredient was imbued with something Harry learned was Natural Magic, and wizards had Human Magic which was something far different and full of intent.

Briefly, Harry wondered how Snape felt about that. Harry himself, after digesting all the previous information, felt queasy even thinking about brewing the potion. From what he gathered, putting intent into a potion of any kind made it far more powerful then imaginable, and without a careful eye and steady hand could get completely out of control.

It was then that Harry was suddenly hit with a memory of hearing about Luna Lovegood's mother, and he furrowed his brow in thought. Perhaps her mum had been messing about with intent potions, or even trying to develop her own. Luna had mentioned her mum experimented often with her potions.

After a few moments of staring into the dying embers of the fire, Harry finally shut the covers to the book in his lap, carefully keeping his bookmark set into the pages he's left off of. Feeling surprise at the back of his mind, Harry wondered if he would have been any good at potions if he'd noted how interesting they were back when he was eleven.

Snorting, Harry though it unlikely Professor Snape ever gave students any reason to enjoy potions. Be it on his own head if he was destroying possible future Potions Master, Harry had learned that they were few and far between.

With a disgusted jolt, Harry paused on his way up to the seventh year boy's dorm. He wondered if that was why Professor Snape hadn't already been taken care of by Voldemort. Everyone in the Order knew that the Dark Lord suspected Snape of disloyalty, and Harry admitted that he wondered why he hadn't been snuffed yet. Swallowing thickly, Harry supposed it must have something to do with the Potions Masters incredible skill.

While he'd been searching through the Potions book, he'd come across an article about Potions Masters, and in it Severus Snape had been stated to be the most well-known and finest Potions Master in the world. Suddenly feeling lucky that he could claim the man as a teacher, Harry headed to bed with a mixed feeling of contentment, surprise, and confusion.

0o0o0o0o0o

"Harry?" Hermione questioned, concern flitting in her eyes as she watched Harry nearly fall into his porridge.

"Hmm?" he muttered, blinking slowly up at Hermione's worried face. Ron had opted to sit next to Lavender Brown, who seemed to be still holding a candle for him. Ron seemed to be enjoying the coy attention.

"Are you okay? You seem - - well, a bit tired," Hermione bit her lip and gave him a small smile.

Harry shrugged, leaning back to stretch his arms. "I was studying," He nearly chuckled when Hermione gave him a startled look.

"Pardon?" she finally managed to choke out, staring at him as if he'd sprouted five extra ears. Harry sighed, but gave her a brief smile anyway.

"I doubt that you don't know about 'studying' means, Hermione," he pointed out, and Hermione had the grace to blush.

"Of course," she agreed, but she was still giving Harry a peculiar look. "But, why - - I mean, what were you studying? And how late did you stay up? You look knackered,"

Harry rubbed at his face. "Potions, and until half two if you must know," Hermione gasped loudly, her eyes widening in shock.

"Harry!" she admonished, giving him a stern look. "It's not healthy to study –"

"Oh?" he interrupted with a half-hearted snicker, to which she made a face. "Look, I needed to know it for later today – for…er…that _thing_."

Hermione looked briefly confused before she caught his meaning and gave him an anxious look. "It must be important, whatever it is," she finally whispered, looking at her pile of books with what Harry could only identify as bitterness.

Swallowing, Harry tapped his spoon against his nearly full bowl of porridge. "What makes you say that?" Hermione gave him a sharp look.

"For _you_ to be studying until exhaustion, it _has_ to be significant," Harry blinked at the intenseness of her voice. "I'm worried about you," she admitted after a moment.

Harry frowned, giving her a hard look. "Whatever for? I'm just studying - - I would have though you would approve." Hermione bit her lip before she shook her head.

"It's not that," she paused, glancing down the table at Ron before she continued. "I'm worried that you'll run yourself into the ground before someone has the sense to tell you to stop,"

Harry grinned at her. "I'm sure you'll tell me to stop,"

"Perhaps, but you won't listen to me, will you?" Harry's grin fell, and he silently agreed with her. He wouldn't listen to her no matter how much she nattered. Silence between them reigned for a few minutes as Harry poked at his breakfast in thought.

"I promise that I'll - - I won't stop, but I will rest, if you can give me a good enough reason too," Harry finally said, and Hermione gave him a thankful smile. After that they discussed what Harry had read, and he was pleasantly surprised to note that Hermione was aware of everything he'd read and more.

Thus, Harry spent the rest of breakfast picking apart everything she knew about potions and the theory behind it. She did admit, after a bit, that she hadn't read all the books Harry listed off, and he found himself surprisingly chuffed that he'd read books Hermione Granger hadn't.

0o0o0o0o0o

After his last class, Harry was feeling nervous again and had reached for the potions books he'd secured in his trunk the moment he'd stepped into the Common Room. He wasn't sure when - - or even if - - Professor McGonagall was going to retrieve him, and Harry decided that if she hadn't arrived before three in the afternoon, he was going to find her himself.

Settling into the nearly deserted Common Room with the book propped against his knees once more, Harry fell into the magic of the book. The more he read, the more interested he became in it and the more questions rose in his mind. In the passage he was reading currently, it outlined the uses of all dragon ingredients, and why they shouldn't be used with separate particular volatile ingredients unless there was an appropriate buffer.

Harry realized now, after mentally going over the past couple of potions they'd brewed in class, why Professor Snape never once left them to their own devices. They had been using a lot of dragon liver lately, and with it another flammable and prone to explode ingredient known as armadillo bile. Lifting his eyes from the book, Harry stared at the empty fire grate in thought.

Dragon ingredients were naturally imbued with fire magic, causing them to be used mostly for exploding draughts or anything required heat, such as the potion used by mediwizards to cure frostbite. He hadn't ever thought of it like that, in fact he had never given any ingredients much thought about why or how they worked.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his musings. Startled, Harry jerked his head up to see Professor McGonagall's amused face. "I see you've been studying," she said lightly, nodding towards the book in his lap.

Grinning, Harry just nodded. He closed the book and stood, suddenly unsure. "Um…do you think Snape will explain everything properly before – well…"

McGonagall observed him over her spectacles with pursed lips for a moment. "I highly doubt _Professor_ Snape will let you assist in brewing a potion you know nothing of," Harry nodded at her confident voice. "Now, if you please," she nodded towards the portrait hole, and Harry followed her out.

On the walk down the dungeons, Harry felt his nervousness rise more and more as the silence between him and his Head of House elongated. He didn't know why she was being silent, but his logical side pointed to the fact that he sure wasn't being very sociable himself. A few times Harry opened his mouth to say something, but if felt like someone had shoved several cotton balls into his throat and nothing came out.

Resigning into silence, Harry followed her down to the dungeons, and he was surprised when they bypassed the classroom before he remembered that they would be working in the Lab. Suddenly, Harry felt even more apprehensive about the idea.

Now that he had a basic understanding of potions and how they should be treated, he didn't feel like he should be allowed into a Potions Lab, especially one that was run by such a Master as Professor Snape. Harry wondered why his thoughts of the Potions Master had changed so drastically over one night, and he was wont to place the blame on his sudden understanding of potions. No, he didn't really understand it; he was just on his way.

When McGonagall paused beside a plain wooden door, Harry stared at it uneasily. "I will retrieve you before dinner, Mr. Potter," she stated, and gave him an encouraging smile before she walked primly back down the corridor. Biting his lip, Harry hesitantly raised his hand to knock on the door.

He winced when the sound felt far more loud then it should, and was startled when the door didn't just open – it _flew_. He was left gaping at the inside of Severus Snape's private potions lab. The man himself wasn't anywhere in sight, and so Harry didn't feel compelled to refrain from staring around in wonder.

Quickly stepping into the lab, and barely noticing when the door flew shut, he stared at the pristine condition of the lab. Its counters were made of cold black marble, with large metal sinks set deep into the four worktables. Next to the sinks were various sizes of beakers, all of them with measuring utilities. In the center of each marble slab was an inset burner, and Harry stared at the cauldrons neatly aligned on a shelf at the far side of the room. They ranged from extremely small to impossibly large, from glass to gold. Harry's awe expanded as he noted the ingredients impeccably arranged on the remaining shelves, all of them were labeled in precise handwriting, and Harry stepped forward to take a closer look at some of them.

"Mr. Potter," Professor Snape's voice drawled behind him, and Harry spun around in surprise. Furrowing his brow, he glanced around the Professor to note a small office just in the corner that he had failed to notice.

"This is amazing!" Harry exclaimed, and didn't notice when Professor Snape's eyebrows rose. "Why isn't the classroom like this?" Harry turned to view the objects again, his grin filling his face.

"That is quite the irresponsible question," Professor Snape finally answered, his voice carefully toneless. But he seemed to be regarding Harry with something other then hatred, and if Harry had looked closer he may have identified it as suspicion and curiosity.

"What?" Harry turned, giving Professor Snape a curious look. With a jolt, he suddenly realized that he was being somewhat _nice_ to the man! He shouldn't be doing that, frowning, Harry turned to stare at the cauldrons once more.

"If you think I'm going to let students get their grubby hands on equipment like this, then I do have to recommend that you apply for an asylum." Snape said, his voice caustic. It was only then that Harry noticed that he was carrying a heavy, ancient looking book in his arms. Snape seemed to notice Harry's look. "This is the potion we will be brewing,"

He set the book down and opened it, stepping back to let Harry take a look, but he didn't miss the man's suspicious glance as Harry neared the beakers. Inscribed at the top page was the name of the potion, and Harry frowned.

"_Conjuratus Hostilis?" _Harry inquired, staring up at the Potions Master, curious.

"Sworn Enemy," Professor Snape provided with a snap. Harry didn't notice it, having become numb to most of Snape's attitude over the years. The next ten minutes were spent in silence as Harry went over the potion a few times.

After Harry was done, he looked up at the enchanted windows spelled high into the Potions Lab walls. The basics of the potion meant that Voldemort definitely had to be Harry's sworn enemy, but that wasn't what confused Harry. Dumbledore had said that Voldemort was immortal, and what the potion was promising was a natural - - if being fed a potion was natural - - death.

"How – " Harry started, and then stopped, remembering who he was talking to. "If Voldemort's immortal, how is this going to kill him?" he finally asked, preparing himself for a biting remark.

"You underestimate the power of Human Magic being combined with the Natural Magic of the ingredients," Professor Snape started, his lecture tone obvious to Harry, who didn't want to hear any of that. He already _knew_ it!

"Yes yes," Harry interrupted, waving a hand. "What I mean, is why are you so sure that it will work against someone who is _immortal_? Wouldn't the potion just slide off of him? I mean, he can't die…" Harry felt suddenly very sick at that thought.

Professor Snape's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you misunderstood me," he started, his voice having lost the lecture voice and adopted a rather scathing tone. "The nature of the potion itself will render anyone – no matter who or what they are – susceptible. Such is the reason why it was located in a Dark Arts book," Harry glanced down, but nothing on the book told him of it's meaning - - or use. "The Dark Lord is only immortal due to his own making, but being immortal does not mean that he will stay that way."

Harry frowned. "You mean the potion itself will make him mortal again?" he asked hesitantly. Professor Snape nodded, his greasy hair slipping forward.

"Indeed," he intoned, his eyes looking at the book before Harry. "What else did you note, Mr. Potter?"

Harry tapped the edge of the marble counter, staring down at the book. "Well, the fact that it's tasteless and colourless is a plus." Harry muttered more to himself to Snape, who didn't say anything to that. "What makes him mortal again, Professor?" Harry finally asked.

"Your intent," he answered after a moment, his dark gaze pinned Harry to his chair. Swallowing thickly, Harry wondered how the bloody hell his _intent_ would render an immortal being mortal again.

"You mean the fact that I _want_ him to be mortal so the potion will work?" Harry asked, licking his lower lip in thought. Professor Snape gave him a look, before he shook his head.

"Not exactly," he disagreed, but he seemed to be looking at Harry in an odd light. "It will do that, among other things. A wizards immune system is far superior to a muggle's based solely on magic, what this potion does is force the magical immune system to disregard it,"

"See it as non-threatening," Harry murmured, and Snape gave a short, curt nod. "Alright, so my intent forces Voldemort to be mortal, and it renders his immune system to that…er…does that mean it's like a muggle?"

"Indeed,"

Harry frowned. "And that means the potion will be even more strong?" Snape didn't say anything, and Harry took that for an agreement. He glanced back down at the symptoms list the page offered. It stated:

The potion subverts the enemy's immune system, digestive system, they develop hemophilia, delusions, depression, and anemia.

Making a face, Harry was frustrated that it still didn't make as much sense as he would have liked it to. Mostly, he assumed, everything that happened had something to do with the ingredients. He scanned the list, and noted that the majority of them have been known to cause a great many of the ailments listed. Only one thing was blaringly out of place. "What about the hemophilia? None of the ingredients cause that, I mean…you can't _cause_ hemophilia anyway, you're born with it…"

"A product of the ingredients is a serum that also prevents clotting of the blood." Professor Snape answered him, and Harry could nearly smack himself.

"_Oh_," he uttered with a feeling of understanding washing over him. Pushing the book away, he turned towards the Potions Master. "So when do we get started?"

The Professor raised a single eyebrow at him. "I dare say I am more then curious of your sudden inclination to the art of potions," Harry shrugged.

"I actually read what you wanted me to, with the intent – " Harry paused to give in to a snigger that fought its way up his throat. " – to actually understand it."

"I see," Professor Snape said, his lip curling. "Perhaps you would have received improved marks if you were willing to care more about your education,"

Harry frowned, sending the Professor a glare. "It's not my fault everyone expects _me_ to defeat Voldemort," he said defensively. "I can't help but feel that everyone else thinks that's more important then my education."

Professor Snape would have snorted if it had been more of his personality, instead he opted for a light scoff. "Mr. Potter, another person philosophy should never mirror your own," he snapped, his spindly hands reaching out to snatch the book from the table. "You would do well to remember that,"

With that he turned away and stalked towards the office imbedded into the wall, leaving Harry to glare after him. Biting his lip, Harry wondered if that was all they needed to do today. Checking his watch told him he had only been there for a half hour, and that there was still four hours until dinner.

Deciding to peruse the vial upon vial of ingredients lining the wall, Harry didn't notice Snape standing behind him until he ran into him.

"Oh!" Harry uttered, pushing away automatically with a raised hand. He felt his face burn as he took in the Professor's irritated visige.

"Let's see what you've learned, Mr. Potter," Snape said then, his voice toneless and he turned to sit on one of the stools pushed under the workbenches. Harry tentatively followed. "What have you learned about Natural Magic?"

"Well, mostly that it is completely different from Human Magic, as it's pure and free of intent. That's why we aren't allowed to use our wands in classes unless the potion requires it, it – well, it puts off the ingredient in a way, I suppose." Harry replied, deciding that either he was wrong or he wasn't and he was interested enough in potions to _want_ to be corrected if so.

Professor Snape raised a single, black eyebrow. "Puts off, Mr. Potter?" Harry blushed again.

"It makes the ingredient react differently, sir." The Professor scrutinized him for a moment before he nodded.

"It seems you have a fair enough grasp of the theory behind Natural Magic, but what of intent?"

Harry had to think about that; while he had given quite a bit of thought to the Natural Magic he only briefly gave thought to the information about intent. "Well, it messes up the Natural Magic if you use your wand but it also gives the potion intent, and therefore making it even more…er…powerful?"

"Not quite, Mr. Potter," the Professor drawled. "Try again,"

"Well I suppose intent…" Harry paused, unsure of how to even begin to voice his thoughts on the matter. No matter how hard he concentrated the words just wouldn't come to his mouth. It was one of those things, where you _know_ what it means but you can't explain it. Sighing in frustration, Harry frowned down at the dark counter. "It gives the potion a meaning beyond its - - er…initial use. It gives it more significance, I suppose…"

The Professor was quiet for a moment before he spoke in a tone that Harry had never heard before; soft. "Not significance, per se, that is implying that the potion was useless before it was given intent. It does give the potion meaning beyond the preliminary, but what does that mean?"

"It means it's not _just_ a potion anymore," Harry triumphantly said with a grin, sitting up straighter on the stool. Professor Snape smirked and gave him a small nod.

"Indeed," he intoned, leaning an elbow on the counter top. "Now…"

Harry and Professor Snape continued the back and forth conversation for well over an hour before they lapsed into a debate over some things Harry had read over the past couple days. By the time Professor McGonagall showed up, both of them were talking animatedly about ingredients as if they were old friends. Or at least acquaintances.

0o0o0o0o0o

**Authors Note: **

_Conjuratus Hostilis_ is my property. It's derived from latin and it basically means Sworn Enemy or Enemies. Take it either way.

I'm not actually positive that Harry knows about Luna's mother and what happened, but for the sake of this fic he does now. Luna will be making an appearance herself soon.

Keep in mind that this is written with an unnamed 6th year AU back-story. Snape is not condemned in so many words, and Albus is alive. Among other things.

If anyone is willing to BETA for me, I would greatly appreciate the help! Thank you.


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